


Scourge

by XxDecipheringGravityFallsxX



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Abuse, Character Death, Physical Abuse, Verbal Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-31
Updated: 2018-08-31
Packaged: 2019-07-05 03:24:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15855246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/XxDecipheringGravityFallsxX/pseuds/XxDecipheringGravityFallsxX
Summary: In which a fourteen year old Stanley Pines learns what his father thinks of him, in the wake of a family death.





	Scourge

**Author's Note:**

> -  
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> -
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> I have committed the utmost atrocious sin. I beg forgiveness from the Fandom. My dark mind is both a blessing and a curse.  
> -  
> -  
> -  
> -

“No! Stop! Give him back! He didn't do anything to you guys!" Stanley struggled violently in the hold of Crampelter's tall accomplice, Stan couldn't be bothered at the moment to even remember his name, it was either Terry or Terrance. At the current moment in time he was trying to break free of Terry's hold.

 

Crampelter and his shorter partner in crime, Wesley stood before him. Clutched in Wesley's hands was a screeching animal, to be more specific a possum.

 

The possum's muzzle had been crudely muzzled with a rusted metal chain, so that it could not bite its aggressors. And its feet had been tied up with rope leaving it utterly defenseless.

 

Crampelter grasped the butcher knife that he had procured off of the back of the possum. "Didn't do anything he says, haha! Listen to the dumbass! Course your stupid possum did somethin' to us! He existed, plain and simple same as you! That's a crime by its own right! And this crime this little vermin has committed can't go unpunished!"

 

Terry and Wesley cackled harshly along with Crampelter.

 

Stan's eyes went wide as he gazed in horror, the sudden realization of what Crampelter was about to do hit him like a punch to his face. "NO! DON'T! PLEASE! YOU CAN HURT ME! JUST DON'T HURT SHANKLIN! PLEASE---" 

 

Pain split through his head as he felt a fist slam down against his cranium. Then before Stan knew it he was pinned to the ground, the unmistakable feeling of the heel of a shoe was digging into his back. Stan could taste the gritty sand of the beach within his mouth as he gazed up at Crampelter and Wesley.

 

"Don't worry pal!" Crampelter sneered with a merciless chuckle, he looked as if he were possessed by one of those supernatural entities that Stan's twin brother Stanford was always studying about. "We'll save plenty of HURT for you, after we're done with your fuzzy buddy!"

 

Stan could feel the threat of hot tears beginning to form within his eyes. He blinked the tears back and scowled with unbridled fury and hatred. “You let him go Crampelter or so help me I’ll—”

 

“Or you’ll what---?” Terry spat out as he pressed his foot deeper against Stan’s back, causing Stan to gasp and bite his lip.

 

“What yah ain’t got nothin' tah say? That’s what we thought! Now stuff it, before we do it for you by cutting your tongue out, loser!”

 

With one last bout of devious laughter, Crampelter pressed the knife against the chubby stomach of the possum and gave it a few experimental pokes. This caused Shanklin to squirm and chatter in discomfort and terror.

 

The possum went limp in Wesley’s hold as an attempt to play dead. However, all of this was for naught, and the possum startled back to attention and shrieked in agony as the butcher knife was slowly being shoved into its flesh. 

 

“NO NO NO!” Stanley cried out in dismay, as he tried pulling himself out from under Terry’s boot. Yet despite his efforts he failed to make any leeway. 

 

He reached out for his possum despite knowing it was all in vain. Tears obscured his vision as he watched is despair as Crampelter tormented Shanklin with the knife.

 

Crampelter pushed the knife deeper and deeper into the possums stomach, causing the poor creature to squeal in a shrill manner and to squirm violently as it tried to escape but to no avail.

 

Crampelter buried the knife up to its hilt into the possum, and then twisted the blade before he yanked it out mercilessly. He let the knife fall and then he turned his gaze towards Stan, glaring at him maliciously. As if to silently warn him it was his turn now.  


 

The possum let out one lest agonized shriek before it convulsed in Wesley hands; and then with a few more wild jerks of its body it went eerily still. 

 

Wesley dropped the creature carelessly into the sand, and kicked its side to make for certain the animal was indeed deceased. When the animal made no noise and the body limply flopped forward and then back,  Wesley was satisfied it was dead.

 

“SHANKLIN! SHANKLIN! SHAKLIN!” Stanley sobbed harshly as he failed underneath Terry’s boot. “SHAN-SHANKLIN! N-NO! NO! NO! NO!” Tears streamed down his face like mini waterfalls, and mucus leaked from his nose.

 

He wailed and hiccuped, slamming a fist down into the sand. “GET OFF OF ME!” He demanded sharply as he pushed back against Terry’s boot, in a sudden motion that caught the bully off guard.

 

 

“Oof!” Terry grunted as he landed on his behind in the sand. “Ugh you little brat---!” He didn’t have time to finish for soon he felt a mouthful of fist crash against his teeth.

 

 

He was sent reeling backwards and he clutched his mouth, “AHHHH! AHHHH MY TEEF! MY TEEF!” The tall teen pressed his trembling hands against his mouth, blood dribbling down his chin. “You cwazy rat lunatic! You busted my teef!” 

 

Stan pushed himself to his feet and gazed down at his hand which was drenched in saliva and blood. He glared at Terry, tears still streaming down his face. He choked down sobs and laughed bitterly, “I’M THE LUNATIC? FUNNY I’M NOT THAT ONE THAT STABBED AN ANIMAL! SHANKLIN NEVER DID NOTHIN WRONG IN HIS LIFE! AND YOU HURT HIM!” 

 

He turned away from Terry leaving him to his pain, his icy and hateful gaze locked with Crampelter and Wesley. He watched the two flinch and take a few steps back. The two bullies had never seen Stan this furious before. “SO WHY DON’T I HURT YOU?!” Stan cried out with fury and rage as he rushed forward, fist already pulled back.

 

Crampelter and Wesley let out shrill screams, and then bolted away from the scene. Leaving Terry alone on the beach with  a very pissed off Stan Pines. “WHA---? GUIS! WAIF FOR ME!” Terry called out after them as he made his escape.

 

Stan halted in his tracks, breathing heavily while his entire body was wrecked with shudders. It took him a minute or two to fully process what had just occurred.

 

When his brain finally caught up with the rest of his body he gasped, and he turned his sights to his possum. The sand underneath Shanklin was stained a dark red and the possum harbored no signs of life.

 

“SH-SHANKLIN!” Stanley stumbled clumsily over to the possum and collapsed on his knees. He reached out for the possum when suddenly the possum shuddered ever so slightly, and let out a frail garbled and wet hiss of pain.

 

“Shanklin! Hold on buddy! I’ll get ya to my ma! She’ll know what to do!” Stan untied the possums’ legs and then struggled and fumbled with the metal chain around its mouth, but he was eventually able to free the possum. “There I got—”

 

The possum let out another noise, a wheeze and garbled whine, blood ejected out of its mouth as it gagged. The possum convulsed violently on the ground and then a rattling breath escaped its parted bloodied jaw. The possum went still again and moved no more, its eyes staring blankly up into the sky.

 

Stanley stared at his possum in sheer horror and disbelief. “Shanklin---?” The name tumbled numbly out of his mouth. He reached out and gently shook the possum.

 

“C’mon buddy…this…this ain’t the time tah be playin’ dead!” Choked laughter escaped from him, as he stared dismally down at his pet that he’d had for two years.

 

“Buddy? Pal? Shanklin? Hey-...really it’s not funny!” He shook Shanklin harder but couldn’t rouse the possum. “Shanie, Shanie…rise and shiny buddy ol’ pal!” 

 

After a minute of trying to get any response from the possum, Stanley gave in. He burst into tears and anguished sobs and wails, he gathered up Shanklin into his arms and buried his face against the possums’ fuzzy side.

 

“M’SORRY! M’SORRY SHANKLIN!” He bawled muffled against the fur, the fourteen year old was seized with uncontrollable tremors. “SHANKLIN!” 

 

Stanley wasn’t certain how long he’d been mourning on the beach for. But the sun had long since set, and the dark of the night was slowly creeping upon the beach. Figures that he’d be left out here to lament over his dead possum by himself.

 

No one would worry about him anyways, no one would even care to look for him. Stan had done this plenty of times before, leave and be gone for hours and then come back sometimes banged up but otherwise none worse for the wear.

 

“Stan?” An all too familiar voice shattered Stan’s train of thought. He pulled his head away from Shanklin’s cold fur and glanced over his shoulder. His gaze locked with his twin’s gaze.

 

“Stanley…?” Stanford asked in a hesitant voice. “Are you alri\---” Stanford’s voice weakly faded as he felt something shift in the sand under his feet. 

 

He glanced down and saw the dark hilt of a knife and the blade of said knife was caked with congealed blood. His pupils dilated and his gaze snapped back up at Stan.

 

“OH MY GOSH, STANLEY!” He rushed around to the front of his twin, expecting to see a stab wound somewhere on his body only to freeze up when he noticed Shanklin in his brother’s arms.

 

“Stan…what…?”

 

“They killed him! They killed Shanklin!” Stanley cried out nearly in hysterics. “THEY KILLED SHANKLIN!”

 

Stanford was shocked into silence, and for a few moments he couldn’t find his voice. When he was able to speak his voice sounded off in an unsteady manner.

 

“They?” Stanford knelt down and hesitantly placed his six fingered hands atop Stanley’s shoulders, in an attempt to comfort him if only by a miniscule amount.

 

 

“Crampelter and his stupid fucking---” Stanley didn’t finish, for he was pulled into a tight hug by his twin. He could feel his brother pat his back. Stanley trembled and whimpered as he buried his face against Stanford’s shoulder. “He’s gone…. He’s gone…Shanie is gone….”

 

Ford tightened his embrace on Stan. “It’s okay Lee... it’s okay…he’s in a better place and he’s not hurting anymore. Shh…” He hushed his distraught twin, hoping that his words would be a source of comfort. “It’s gonna be okay Lee…I got you, I got you. It will all be okay, I promise.” 

 

Stanley continued to sob and whimper, “Wh-Why? Shanie di-didn’t ever harm…didn’t….ever harm no-“ Another sob escaped him followed by a sniffle, “he didn’t ever harm nobody! It’s not fair! It’s not fair Stanford!” Stan’s sobs became louder as he pressed himself as closely up against his brother as he could. “IT’S NOT FAIR! IT’S NOT FAIR!”

 

Stanford shuddered and tears of his very own began seeping from his eyes and rolling down his cheeks. He let out a soft whine and buried his face against Stan’s shoulder. “I know…I know…I’m sorry Stanley…I’m so sorry. Shanklin was a good boy…”

 

The twins sat there for another hour or two, sharing each other’s pain and mourning together over the loss of Shanklin. Even though Stanley was far more fond of Shanklin, Stanford still cared for the possum to an extent.

 

Seeing Shanklin in such a state, and seeing how devastated Stanley was due to the possums’ untimely demise had moved Stanford to tears. The moon had long since settled itself into the sky, and the stars decorated the darkness with their soft shining light.

 

Finally the twins had no more tears to shed. Stanford was the first one to move, he reluctantly let Stan go. He got to his feet and held out his hand for his brother. Stan silently took his brother’s hand and Ford led him across the beach.

 

With his other hand he pulled out the flashlight he always kept in his pocket. He flicked it on and shined it ahead of them. “Do you…do you remember when we discovered Shanklin?” Stanford asked, keeping his voice low.

 

Stanley nodded dismally at him, holding Shanklin in one arm, close to his chest. The possums’ tail swayed back and forth like a sad metronome. 

 

“He was just a baby then, wasn’t he? He was so small and cute and…and really fl-fluffy.” Stanford mumbled, stammering over his words as he tried not let his emotions overtake him again.

 

“He was so cute and so alone and we took him in and cared for him. I remember the first time you left him in the house Pa was furious…hahaha….hahah…” Stanford trailed off as he realized he wasn’t going to get a response from Stanley. 

 

They continued on until they reached the small park and then they stopped in front of a large tree. Stanford let out a low sigh and let go of Stan’s hand and halfway turned to look at him, “Here…”

 

He gestured with his hand to the tree before him. “This is where we found him… I was thinking that…it’s…it’s where we should…or where you should…or I could…”

 

“Hey wherever we go we go together, and that means we do it together to.” Stanley gave him a tired, sorrowful but almost genuine smile.

 

“C’mon let’s just get it over with, kay Poindexter?” He settled Shanklin down into the soft grass beside the tree. Then he settled onto his knees and began scooping up dirt at the roots of the tree

 

Stanford followed Stan’s lead and soon there was deep and large enough hole to suffice for a possums’ grave. The twins carefully scooped up Shanklin and lowered him into the hole.

 

With nary a word they pushed the displaced dirt back over the hole only to stop just before Shanklin was completely covered.

 

“Goodbye…” Stan whispered a feeble sob following his word of farewell.

 

“Goodbye.” Stanford echoed his brother with a shaky sigh following his farewell. The two of them took the last clump of dirt and finally finished the burial.

 

Ford rose to his feet and left Stanley’s side for a few moments only to return with a stick. He knelt again and pushed the stick into the mud right behind Shanklin’s hole to mark his grave.

 

Stanley took in a deep breath and searched around in the dark until he found a sharp rock, he used the sharp rock to painstakingly rip part of the hem off of his white and red striped shirt off. He tied the white fabric to the top of the stick, the fabric resembled a white flag.

 

“Let’s go home…”

 

“Are you sure---?”

 

“I SAID let’s go HOME, Sixer.” Stanley huffed in slight annoyance but mostly in sorrow.

 

“Okay.” Stanford helped pull Stan to his feet, and the two of them made their way home in melancholic silence. As soon as they arrived home, their father was waiting for them his arms crossed and his lips curled down into a scowl.

 

-

-

-

The two boys stood there as their father gave them both a stern talking to about worrying their mother sick for being out so late without telling them where they’d gone.

 

However the lecture was short-lived when their mother arrived in the small living space, having just gotten off the phone with the authorities.

 

She had taken notice to the blood stains on Stanley and true to a mother’s nature she flipped her lid. “OH MY GOODNESS GRACIOUS MY POOR PRECIOUS STANLEY! MY LITTLE BABY BOY WHAT HAPPENED TO YOU? ARE YOU HURT? COME HERE---!”

 

“I’m okay Ma…” Stan replied numbly, casting his gaze off to the side and down at the ground avoiding his mother’s worried eyes. “It ain’t mine…it’s Shanklin’s…”

 

“Shanklin’s?” His mother repeated, looking briefly over at her husband before her gaze returned to Stanley.

 

“You mean your little fuzzy pet possum? Oh dearest, what happened?” She got down on her knees and place a hand on Stan’s shoulder. “Stanley, sweetheart, please look at your mother. Tell me what happened.”

 

Stanley looked up at his mother, and the instant he gazed into her eyes he broke down into sobs all over again. He flung himself at his mother and clung to her.

 

“He’s gone ma! He’s gone! They….and the rope and the metal chain and the knife an-and---” His agony filled words slurred together with sobs and whines, so much so that what he was saying was lost to his mother and father.

 

“Crampelter and his friends killed Shanklin, ma.” Stanford answered for his twin, seeing as he was in no shape to answer the question.

 

“So, that accursed varmint is finally six feet under?” Filbrick inquired coldly, and without any hint of remorse in his voice.

 

“Filbrick Elmer Pines!” Caryn cried out in a shrill gasp, “What is the matter with you? That’s such an insensitive thing to say when our precious Stanley is in tears!”

 

“Bah!” Filbrick grunted indignantly, the scowl on his face growing ever more apparent. “Caryn, it was just a filthy rodent, for fuck’s sake.”

 

Stanley stiffened in his mother’s hug. Just a filthy rodent? Just a filthy rodent? 

 

Shanklin was anything but that! How dare his father say such a thing. What in blazes was wrong with his old man? Why was he so cold and uncaring so bitter and hateful? 

 

 

“A-Actually p-pa…the possum isn’t a ro-rodent it’s a marsupial and Shanklin wasn’t filthy we bathed him regularly and---” Stanford’s timid correction faltered as his father turned his head towards him.

 

Even though he couldn’t see his father’s eyes beyond his eye wear he had no doubts his father was giving him a burning glare of warning to shut his mouth.

 

Stanford immediately clamped his jaw shut and bit his bottom lip, placing one hand on the back of his neck and then placing his other hand on his arm.

 

“I don’t give a rat’s ass what that damn possum was or wasn’t, it ain’t nothing but dead now! The only good varmint is a dead one!” Filbrick snapped out in exasperation, his hands clenching into fists, Stanford swore he could see a vein bulging against his father’s temple.

 

Stanley placed his hands over his ears, and buried himself deeper against the fabric of his mother’s dress. 

 

_Don’t listen… don’t listen…don’t listen…don’t listen…don’t listen..._

 

“And as for you Stanley Pines!” Filbrick shot out his hand, and yanked Stanley away from his mother by the collar of his shirt.

 

“I’m disappointed in you, I bet you just sat by like a damn wimp and let them kill that damn vermin! Well I say good riddance to that fucking possum, he wasn’t nothing but a pain in my ass!”

 

He let Stanley go but towered over him, shaking his head in disapproval. “I can’t believe that you’re so weak, that you can’t even take care of your own pet. You’re gonna end up doing something foolhardy, and get someone in this family killed or worse if you keep---”

 

 

**“FUCK YOU!”**

 

The house was brought to silence… eerie and alarming silence.

 

Stanley slapped his hands over his mouth, and his face immediately seemed to transition into a stark hued white. He took a step back, and knew from the silence that he’d fucked up royally.

 

A guttural and vexed booming laughter echoed and shattered the disconcerting silence, Filbrick's scowl slowly and seemingly unnaturally scrunched up into a malevolent smirk. 

 

Caryn immediately snatched Stanley around his torso and pulled him protectively against her side, she moved her body forward to shield her son from his father’s wrath. “Filbrick please---! He didn’t mean to say that he’s just hurt, he just lost his pet and---!”

 

“THAT IS NO EXCUSE FOR THE BRAZEN LACK OF DISRESPECT!” Filbrick roared with fury, his knuckles stark white in contrast to his natural skin pigmentation.

 

 

“Move aside Caryn! This ain’t got NOTHING TO do with you. This boy needs to learn his damn place in this household, or he won’t have a FUTURE in this household!”

 

Stanley trembled, his eyes glistening with unshed tears and burning with sheer disdain. Deep within his chest he felt a spark of bravado burst to life, and he pushed himself away from his mother. He placed himself in front of his mother, and stood as tall as he could and glared at his father. 

 

** “WHY?” **

 

The question caught Filbrick off guard, and his fury fizzled only just for a moment. “Why what boy?”

 

Stanford held his breath as his gaze flickered back and forth from his brother and his father. What was Stanley thinking? He wasn’t any match for their father, the fool was going to get decked if he didn’t back down.

 

Stanford decided that despite his own trepidation he needed to intervene, he stepped forward to go in between them and opened his mouth to say something, but was interrupted by Stanley’s vindictive question towards their father.

 

 

**“WHY DO YOU HATE ME?”**

 

Silence once again reigned down upon the household. Nobody moved and nobody even breathed, everyone was stiff as statues.

 

 

Then in an instant time snapped forward and Filbrick flinched, it was the first time anyone in the family had seen the burly man be taken aback by something.

 

“I don’t---!”

 

“NO! DON’T YOU LOOK AT ME AN' LIE TO MY FACE! YOU DON’T HAVE TO SAY IT! I KNOW YOU HATE ME! YOU DON’T HAVE TO SAY IT OR LIE! JUST TELL ME WHY!" Stanley shouted his face contorted into an expression of sorrow, agony, and resentment. His entire aura harbored a darkness that Stanford had never felt before.

 

Filbrick snarled deeply, the calm before the storm had broken and now everything came crashing down. All the resentment the two had harbored for each other came bursting out of the dam. 

 

“BECAUSE YOU ARE WEAK, YOU’RE AN IGNORAMUS, AND YOU AIN’T EVER GONNA GET ANYWHERE IN YOUR DAMN LIFE! YOU’RE GONNA END UP ON THE FUCKING STREETS AND DIE OUT THERE! YOU DON'T TAKE YOUR FUTURE SERIOUSLY! AND WHAT’S WORSE YOU’RE DRAGGING STANFORD DOWN WITH YOU, AND SUFFOCATING HIM WITH THIS FOOLHARDY BOAT PLAN OF YOURS!”

 

Stanley stood his ground and didn’t flinch despite all the verbal abuse that was being flung at him. He continued to glare at his piece of shit father, scowling back at him not giving a damn that his father was certain to beat him black and blue after this altercation.

 

Caryn’s hands flew up to her mouth as she watched on in horror. What had the man she had fallen in love with become? How could he hate one of their precious children?

 

Stanford backed away from his father and Stanley. A sickening feeling nestled deep within his stomach, he’d known that their father wasn’t particularly approving of Stanley. However, he wasn’t prepared to hear that their father outright hated him. 

 

“YOU’RE WORTHLESS STANLEY!  ALL YOU DO IS CHEAT, STEAL AND LIE! NO ONE COULD EVER LOVE SOMEONE LIKE YOU! YOU AIN’T MY SON, YOU’RE---” Filbrick gestured to Caryn bitterly, “HER SON, BUT YOU AIN’T MINE! NO BOY WHO CAN’T BE A MAN IS GOING TO BE CALLED MY SON. THAT POSSUM OF YOURS WAS A BLIGHT ON THIS WORLD. JUST LIKE YOU STANLEY, YOU AIN’T NOTHING BUT A FUCKING SCOURGE TO THIS WORLD AND TO OUR FAMILY!”

 

Stanley clenched his fists as he let every word their father shout at him course through his mind like a Viper’s venom. 

 

His entire body felt like it was on fire, and yet ice-cold all at once. He watched his father heave as he tried to catch his breath after the verbal abuse he had spewed. 

 

“I hate you.”

 

“What?”

 

“I said I fucking hate you, old man! What you don’t like that? Why would it be fair for you to hate me, but I can’t return the sentiment? I hate you! There now it’s fair, and we’re both even!” Stanley replied icily with no hesitation. He didn’t cry, he wasn’t going to give his father the sick and twisted satisfaction of letting him be aware of just how deeply those words had cut him.

 

 **“THAT’S IT, YOU’VE FUCKING HAD IT---!”** Filbrick bounded forward with a fist pulled back---

 

Stanley closed his eyes, and prepared for the inevitable pain that was going to follow when his father’s fist collided with his face. 

 

 

It never came.

 

 

Instead he heard the sound of glass crunching, and a pained grunt following the noise. Then he heard their mother’s frantic and shrill shrieks.

 

Stan cracked open an eye- only to see Stanford flat on his ass, glasses broken in half- discarded to the side, and blood seeping from his nose.

 

“Shit, Stanford!” Stanley dropped to his knees besides Ford. “Are you okay Poindexter?!” 

 

Stanford groaned and rubbed his nose. “M’fine…” He struggled to get to his feet, glass shards scattered around him from his broken glasses. It was difficult to rise up from a sea of glass, and not end up with lacerations to your hands afterwards.

 

Stanley cupped his hands under Ford’s arms and helped him to his feet. “I got you…I got you.”

 

The two of them made a silent retreat toward the kitchen, listening to their parents shout vulgarity back and forth at each other. Ford made his way to the kitchen sink and grabbed a rag, he turned on the faucet and watched the water splurge out of the spigot.

 

He ran the rag under the lukewarm water and then began to clean his face off. It took approximately five minutes for his nose to finally cease bleeding and for him to wash his face off completely.

 

Through his slightly blurred vision he noticed out of the corner of his eye that Stanley was standing in front of the corner where the silverware was situated.

 

Without a word Ford tip toed closer to see what Stanley was eyeing, and a chill captured his body and his heart skipped several beats. 

 

Stan was staring at a large butcher's knife in the knife holder, his gaze was almost dull if not for the fact that there was a flash of danger and desire in his eyes.

 

“Stan…?” Ford began timidly and he reached out for him, and it was in that moment he saw Stan make a slight movement that was aimed towards the butcher’s knife. “Stanley!” He forcefully took Stan’s hand in his and clutched it tightly.

 

Stan startled out of his stupor with a soft gasp, and his gaze snapped towards Ford. “Y-Yeah?”

 

“Are YOU okay?” Ford knew it was an idiotic question, how could anyone be fine after learning their father thought they were worthless and on top of that loathed them no less? But what else could he even ask of his twin?

 

“Peachy.” Stan mumbled as he averted his gaze back towards the butcher’s knife, his gaze growing dull and fixated on it once more.

 

“Sta-Stanley come on buddy, why don’t we step outside, yeah? So we don’t have to hear ma and pa?” Ford clutched Stan’s hand tighter, prepared to take immediate action and pin Stanley if he had to if he was about to do something rash.

 

Stan didn’t respond right away, it took him a minute of jarring silence before he nodded woefully. “Okay…”

 

Ford smiled but it was a fabricated and worrisome one. He pulled Stanley along as they crept past the living area and to the door.

 

Ford couldn’t help but notice that Stan had kept his gaze on the butcher knife until the blade was well out of sight. He shuddered as he flung open the door and began to sprint forward, taking Stan along with him.

 

Stanford had already feared once his brother had been stabbed by a butcher’s knife. And he wasn’t about to let his fear come true, not on his watch.

 

He made a memo to himself to sink all the butcher’s knives they had into the ocean later, if that’s what it took to keep Stanley from doing something insane.

 

Soon they were free, rushing down streets dimly lit by lamplight. Stanley was taken over with confusion wondering where Ford was dragging him to in a rush. “Whoa Sixer where’s the fire---?!”

 

Ford came to an abrupt halt and Stanley took in the sights and recognized where they were. They were at the swingset and the dock, the Stan O ‘ War was off to the,  side still half-finished. Ford turned to him and patted him on the shoulder.

 

“Come on Lee, why don’t we tinker with the Stan O’ War some more? She isn’t going to construct herself.” He held up his hand, “High Six?”

 

Stanley blinked away tears, not recalling when he had started tearing up. Stanley sniffled and gave his brother the first genuine grin of the night. He nodded eagerly and slapped his hand against Ford’s. “High Six!” 

 

The two of them worked long and hard on the Stan O’ War, the sound of the ocean at night brought a soothing calm to the twins. Stanley seemed to be recovering from the events of the past few hours.

 

Ford would have even noted that his brother didn’t seem to care at all about what their father had said, if it wasn’t for what happened a few hours into their laborious task.

 

“Hey Stanley you think you could hand me the hammer…?” All that Ford’s question was met with was silence. “Lee?” He looked up to notice with a chill that Stanley wasn’t where he was supposed to be.

 

A frantic scan of the beach revealed to Ford that Stan had silently slipped away to the dock. He was standing at the very edge, looking down at the water and he was grasping something in his hand.

 

As Ford made his way over the object came into view, and the blade shimmered in the reflection of the moonlight. 

 

“STANLEY!” Ford launched forward, and rushed towards his brother faster than he’d ever sprinted in his entire life. Where in blazes had he gotten---?

 

Oh… there was blood already on it. It was the knife that had been used to stab Shanklin. Ford snatched the knife away from Stanley in a small struggle, though it wasn’t much of a struggle.

 

Stanley didn’t really attempt to keep his grip on the knife. Ford hurled the knife towards the ocean, it collided with a small splash and vanished beneath the waves.

 

Ford gasped and sputtered heavily, the run had sucked out any oxygen he had in his lungs. Despite this he grasped Stan by his shoulders, and turned him forcibly towards him. “LEE WHAT IN BLAZES DID YOU THINK YOU WERE GOING TO DO WITH---?”

 

Stanley’s face was red and his eyes were puffy, tears fell by the dozens from his face. He was shaking, and it looked as though his knees would give out. Sobs escaped him as he gazed into Ford’s face.

 

“Stan…” Ford murmured and he wrapped his arms around his brother and hugged him protectively. “Don’t let what our idiot father said get to you.”

 

“B-But I…I am…I am…I….I am a fucking idiot! I got Shanklin killed! Pa was right! I’m gonna fuck up, and get someone else killed one day and---” 

 

“STOP! JUST STOP!” Ford demanded firmly,  hugging his brother as closely to him as possible. “You aren’t gonna get someone killed Lee. You didn’t let Shanklin get killed, I’m certain that you fought and tried to protect him, right? It was just fate that Shanklin died. It wasn't your fault, Lee.”

 

Stan didn’t answer at first. He took in uneven breaths and nodded. “I…I tried but Terrance…he...he held me down and I couldn’t…. I couldn’t---!” His voice waned and transitioned into a pathetic sob. He hid his face against Ford’s shoulder.

 

“See, you didn’t let him die Lee, you did everything you could, it wasn’t your fault. It was just fate that took Shanklin, and honestly pa can go jump in the Arctic ocean. Maybe if he gets a taste of his own frigid medicine he’ll thaw out some?” Ford attempted a lame crack at a joke. Thankfully it seemed to work as Stan burst into laughter.

 

The two of them settled down at the end of the dock, they slipped their socks off and dipped their feet into the cool water, both of them gazing out towards the moon on the horizon.

 

“One day we’re going to sail away from this asinine town, we’ll hunt down treasure, get all the girls and be an unstoppable team of adventures.” Ford echoed his brother’s words from two years earlier.

 

Stan glanced over at him and chuckled, “Thanks, Poindexter.” He gently punched him on the shoulder.

 

Ford returned the chuckle and the gesture.

 

The two of them continued to stare at the horizon in silence. Kicking their feet in the water, and just listening to the sound of the ocean waves.

 

“Stanford?”

 

“Mhnnn?”

 

“Pa hates me.”

 

Ford placed a hand on Stan’s shoulder. 

 

“Why?”

 

Ford didn’t know how to answer, he was under the assumption that their father had made it clear as to why he hated Stan.

 

“I mean…” Stan fumbled with his words, “I know why but…why y’know? Why should any of that matter to him? Ain’t parents supposed to love their kids no matter what? Also if what he says was true then…” He took in a shaky breath, “If no one can love someone like me, then how does Ma love me?”

 

Ford opened his mouth to try to interject, but Stanley continued.

 

“An' you love me too, ri-right?” The hesitation in Stan’s voice caused Ford’s heart to ache, of course he loved his twin. He wondered what made Stanley believe otherwise.

 

“Of course I love ya! Ya knucklehead!” He grabbed him in a headlock and ruffled his hair, smirking and laughing feeling a wave of relief wash over him when Stan began to laugh along with him.

 

He released Stanley from the headlock and grinned at him in reassurance, Stanley returned the grin but then it faltered all too soon.

 

A frown settled in its place and Stan let out a heavy sigh, “Ford… what if Pa’s right about me? What if I do end up a screw up? What if I end up a crooked grifter on the run from the law, using fake ID’S and end up being a lying cheat for the rest of my life?”

 

Ford couldn’t help but howl with laughter as he fell backward and clutched his stomach. “S-Stanley that is the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever said! Where did you come up with such an outlandish idea? We’re only fourteen, Lee! We don’t have to worry about things like that! There’s like only a one percent possibility that’s going to happen.”

 

Stan couldn’t help but laugh, his twin’s laughter was infectious and he flopped backwards and gazed up at the stars. “Yeah you’re right like yah always are, Poindexter. I don’t know where I got that idea from, guess that’s just my demons talking.”

 

“Yeah- well you can tell those demons to shove it, cause you and I have a life of adventures ahead of us, and they’re not invited.” Ford replied teasingly, as he sat back up and noticed that the night was giving way to the morning. 

 

The darkness was slowly fading and the light was reclaiming the their part of the world. “We’ve been up nearly all night, ma’s gonna kill us.”

 

Stanley settled back into a sit and shook his head, “Nah I bet my money on pa, he’s going to lose it when he finds out we’re gone. If he hasn’t already…” He went silent again, now staring down into the ocean blue.

 

“I know what Pa thinks of me, and I know what Ma thinks of me, I also know what this town thinks of me. You know I think I’ll be okay with what they all think, cause you wanna know what I think?”

 

“What?”

 

“I think we’re going to be the most famous adventurers to ever live.”

 

Ford nodded and patted Stan’s shoulder, he wondered just how many times he had patted his twin’s shoulder the last few hours alone.

 

“Hey Ford…could yah promise me somethin’?”

 

“Of course.”

 

“Promise that we won’t get stupid like Ma and Pa and fight all the time. That we won’t hate each other, that we’ll always be best friends, and we’ll always be together.” 

 

“I promise Stanley, after all, wherever we go we go together.” Ford reminded him, though still promising all the same.

 

Stanley grinned and sighed in a content manner. He had one last question on his mind to ask, “Stanford how do you think Pa would think of me if I proved him wrong on everything he ever said about me?”

 

Ford pondered the thought for a few moments, mulling it over only to come up blank. Honestly he wasn’t certain how their father would react if Stanley proved him wrong. “I don’t know Stanley but…” He wrapped his arms around him. “I think you’re pretty great.”

 

Stanley stiffened before more tears trailed down his face, he laughed and cried at the same time.

 

“You’re not so bad yourself, for a Nerd!” He snickered and threw himself off of the dock and landed into the water, splashing Ford and getting him soaking wet. He came back up with a smirk on his face and he stuck his tongue out at his twin.

 

“Yeah well you’re pretty great, for a Knucklehead!” Ford hopped up, took a few steps back and then sprinted down the dock and leaped into the water and collided into Stanley, both of them going under.

 

They both came back up, and with a mischievous glint in Stan’s eyes Ford let out a high-pitched mock scream as Stan splashed him with water. 

 

“NOOO! STANLEY STOP!” He felt relieved to know he had saved his brother today, but he didn’t know if he could save him the next time. Yet, he decided he’d focus on the here and now and just enjoy the moment while it lasted.

 

The two of them swam around in the water splashing each other and pranking each other; until the moon finally vanished from the sky and daybreak arrived.

 

Their laughter echoing across the riptide.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> -  
> -  
> -  
> Rest in peace Shanklin the possum and young Stanley's feelings of worth and confidence. Don't let the happy end fool you Stan is still horribly traumatized owo.  
> -  
> -  
> Seriously am I banned from the fandom yet?  
> -


End file.
